


Spurred On

by JoJo



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, Community: mag7daybook, Imagination, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6936406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/pseuds/JoJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power of a sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spurred On

**Author's Note:**

> a little trifle written in Jan 2016 to the prompt 'Chris/Ezra, he would listen for his spurs'
> 
> prompt courtesy of randi, trifle for mendax :)

It was experience, as well as his mother’s tutelage, that had taught Ezra to use his ears. For defence as well as possible material gain, of course. Observing Vin Tanner's faculty for perceiving sounds out on the trail had been a revelation too, although one Ezra was careful not to acknowledge. He was also equally good at pretending not to hear things, because that was a useful skill that bought time in tight spots, not to mention helping to block out Mr. Wilmington in full flow.

But, in general, the constant monitoring of ambient sounds had become second nature.

‘It’s eyes in the back of your darlin’ head,’ Maude used to say, fondly. As well as the steelier ‘nobody should ever creep up unseen on any true son of mine.’

Well, they didn’t as a general rule, because Ezra’s hearing was just too good.

And lately, to his surprise, he’d learned to listen as well as hear. Not necessarily to Buck, of course, but to certain other things.

Such as a familiar, flat jangling sound that presaged a certain someone coming down the boardwalk. He could catch it through all the other sounds in the saloon or on the street. In fact, he became aware that he was always the first one to hear it. Almost as if he was irreversibly tuned to that particular note. At first it wasn’t a sound he’d really appreciated much. Generally, according to rhythm, it signaled time to ride, or, much worse, suggested he was about to have several, painful and humiliating strips torn off him.

But then – he wasn’t quite sure when that happened – he’d caught himself searching for it. Listening out began to add a giddy anticipation to his day as good as identifying a thousand dollar mark. Not that the resulting clench in his stomach or canter of his pulse showed. Even though he actually wanted to loll his mouth open as soon as the batwings creaked, he’d trained himself to remain outwardly cool, if not freezingly unconcerned. And certainly never to blush hotly like J.D. did whenever Miss Casey hove into view. Putting all his hopes and dreams on display.

Trouble was, Ezra was no longer just tuned to the daytime sound anymore. In fact, it seemed as if the damned spurs jingled in his head right round the clock.

He’d wake in the night sometimes, for no immediate reason he could discern. It would be to a silence that filled his room, complete save for the thick thump of his hearbeat in his ears. And then it would come. That sound. The faintest chink-chink somewhere on the dark night street. Larabee doing his rounds. Or restless with some unremitting inner pain. Ezra would catch it in the distance. Then ever louder, clearer, until Chris passed by the saloon and stepped up on to the boardwalk. Ezra would lie still hoping against all reason and sense for the sound to halt under his window. To know that while he lay naked under his sheets Chris Larabee was standing close - achingly close - smoke from his cigarillo rising into the quiet.

Ezra's imagination would set off then. Because he'd hear, after the sound of the spurs, the lightest of booted steps up the outside stairs, followed inexorably by the click of the door handle and the metallic scrape of the key turning slowly in the lock... After that he was sure there’d be only one more thing he’d listen for for some time. And that would be the sound of his name, gasped out by a man drowning in pleasure and heaving for air. Followed by a rough, broken groan of utter and exhausted satisfaction...

But that didn't happen, of course. After the briefest of pauses, the spurs would just jangle down the steps again, and chink their maddening rhythm on to the street and out of earshot into silence.

And as silence crept back into the room, Ezra's hand would creep down his belly.

Which only meant the next day in the saloon he'd be listening out that much harder, and he'd be that much closer to turning a fierce, hot, revealing scarlet when Larabee was actually there, standing before him.

Ezra half wished he could be as hard of hearing as Josiah sometimes was.

For one way or another, something had got to give.

He wasn’t at all sure what would happen when it did.


End file.
